


out in the light

by tousled



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, High Fantasy AU, Magic, One-Sided Attraction, Swan Maiden, fairy tale-like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: The call of a reed warbler distracts her, the notes of its song so very beautiful and Astrid follows the curve of the pond to look for it. She wants to mark off in her Uncle Finn’s ledger the exact species; Uncle Finn would have known from the call alone. It must be deep in the reeds, and Astrid pushes some aside to peer in, and instead of a bird there’s a boy sitting waterside, feet trailing into the pond. His skin is the colour of moonlight, hair braided and twirled like clouds, and he looks up at Astrid, smiling sun rays on eyes of a lazy summer day until he doesn’t recognise Astrid.Astrid discovers a secret, learns not to feed ducks bread and sets herself free.





	out in the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dendraica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendraica/gifts).

> #httydrarepairweek2019 day 6: sacrifice // and what you do suggest?
> 
> song is who are you by svrcina but not a necessary listen whilst reading. title from it. 
> 
> warnings: hiccup is kinda a little OOC in this but i won’t apologise bc finally it’s his turn to be whatever the story needs instead of Astrid. he’s constantly harasses Astrid is this so if that makes you uncomfortable, be warned. He’s the same in RTTE but I don’t put it in a positive light.  
there’s some kissing between two 16 yr olds, I wasn’t sure if that counts as underage but I don’t think it is.  
uh? there’s a dog bite mentioned in fic it’s not graphic but warning. 
> 
> I wrote this in 2 days and I’m so fucking proud but I imagine there’s a bunch of mistakes. Once rare pair week is over I will go over and edit properly. If you see anything please let me know! 
> 
> Huge shout to to maedarakat!!!! So cool that u came up the dragon-selkie thing it reminded me of that selkie & swan maiden post. 
> 
> Please don’t feed birds bread.

Every day, at six am when the bakers are always halfway through baking the day’s bread Astrid takes yesterday’s leftovers to the pond at the very southern end of the castle grounds to feed the birds. Sometimes there are song thrush in the reeds, and swallows collecting mud for their nests and palace mallards gobbling up everything that’s meant to be shared with the grebes and other waterfowl. The farm’s geese won’t break out of their pens to cause havoc until at least nine am when the palace farmers start their rounds, so it peaceful. Sometimes, when the season’s right and perhaps the geese are too full of corn, there are swans. 

The first time Astrid had seen a swan she was four, and holding her mama’s hand and her Uncle Finn’s tunic and it had been so _ huge _in comparison to her, white and angry at a farm dog that was trying to catch its cygnets. It’s wings had flapped, wide and angry and the noise hurt her ears but Astrid had stood in awe this beautiful beast defending tiny, fluffy little bags from a dog with gnashing teeth and terrifying bark. The swan knew its power, knew its strength, stood tall and unafraid and Astrid watched from her mama’s petticoats. 

Uncle Finn caught the dog by the scruff of its neck and suffered an angry bite for his trouble. He had laughed, and said nothing to the farmer who surely would have killed the dog if he had known and let Astrid’s mama clean the wound with boiled water from the fire and pack a healing balm around it. Her mama let her pick the leaves of the herbs off the stem for it, and then let her choose the herbs for their tea too. 

“Uncle Finn,” Astrid started, looking down her roselle tea. She and Uncle had stolen a few from the palace green house just so Astrid could try the taste.

“I’m okay bug,” Uncle Finn had said, smiling, “no worse than a cut from a poison tipped blade of the North Western Kingdom.” 

“What was that bird?” Astrid had asked, unconcerned by Uncle Finn’s expression as he tries his unconventional mix of tea leaves. 

“It was a swan dear,” her mama had said, sipping her same mix without a blink. 

“Beautiful birds,” Uncle Finn had added, “but can be vicious. You need to respect them proper, and then they’re your friend for life.” 

Astrid is sixteen now, and she visits the pond alone, her mama already caught up in the day’s work and the presence of Uncle Finn on her shoulders. Poison tipped blades from the North Western Kingdom are quite a lot more of a problem then Uncle Finn had made them out to be. Yesterday there were no swans, and today there is none either. Astrid feeds the mallards until they are lazy with their bellies full of bread and she has run out. She dawdles, unwilling to make her way up to the palace to begin her the day’s tasks. The Wanderer Queen is returning today, back from the exploration of a bog at the border between Berk lands and Beserker lands. Astrid is not looking forward to having to carry mud around the palace. 

The call of a reed warbler distracts her, the notes of its song so very beautiful and Astrid follows the curve of the pond to look for it. She wants to mark off in her Uncle Finn’s ledger the exact species; Uncle Finn would have known from the call alone. It must be deep in the reeds, and Astrid pushes some aside to peer in, and instead of a bird there’s a boy sitting waterside, feet trailing into the pond. His skin is the colour of moonlight, hair braided and twirled like clouds, and he looks up at Astrid, smiling sun rays on eyes of a lazy summer day until he doesn’t recognise Astrid. 

“Who are you?” The boy asks, and all of a sudden Astrid realises he’s naked. She flushes, turning away and stumbling back. The reeds fall back into place. 

“Late,” she replies, panicked. Suddenly avoiding cleaning the Wanderer Queen’s musty bedchambers and trying to ignore the Prince’s general chatter doesn’t seem like the best course of action. She picks up her petticoats, bundling them up at her hip and takes off back towards the palace itself. 

It isn’t until Astrid is back to the palace doors, being reprimanded for walking around with her skirts hitched up that she settles. Her face is still pink, shaken by the unearthly beauty of the boy, the grace in his movement, his nudity. Another maid makes fun of her for it, a common joke about Astrid’s propensity for outdoor physical activity like it’s some affliction she’s suffering. She doesn’t mind them, loading her soapy water-filled bucket into the dumbwaiter, and hurrying up the ten or so flights of stairs to the Wanderer Queen’s room. 

“Oh Astrid, we thought you’d been eaten by a roving wolf pack.” Prince Hiccup says, splayed out on a settee like he’s being fanned. Astrid goes straight to the dumb waiter and starts hauling “A _ cursed _roving wolf pack drawn to beauty and ruining it. I nearly fainted at the thought! 

“We, sir?” Astrid asks, but doesnt look, doesn’t acknowledge the commentary about her looks. By now, she is used to cursed roving wolf packs and evil queens and witches who bathe in girl’s blood. Prince Hiccup watches too many of the thespian’s guild’s plays. 

“My official memoir writer is here with me today.” Prince Hiccup replies, “he is to take down the story of me wooing my beautiful future wife as it happens.” 

“Of course sir.” Astrid says. Fishlegs is an amateur historian and junior librarian. He does not write memoirs, or any books except for those on the rotation of vegetables in the palace gardens. 

“Good morning Astrid,” Fishlegs adds, Astrid spares him a glance for a smile. Fishlegs smiles back and turns to his research. He doesn’t even have a quill with him. 

She mops the Wanderer Queen’s floors steadily, changing the water over thrice as the Prince continues his usual drawl. It is predictable enough that Astrid tunes him out and is able to say the right kind of “really sir?” or “very interesting sir,” at any given moment and thinks about the boy at the pond. He wasn’t familiar, not some villager that she recognised, although sometimes they had been known to swim the eastern pools between guard patrols. Something about him wasn’t quite human, magical and Astrid wonders if she really did miss out on being turned into magical creature food. 

“I need to use the lavatory so stay put until I’m back.” Prince Hiccup says. Astrid will do no such thing. The King’s word is law, and the Prince’s is to be obeyed unless excessive. If she’s finished cleaning, the afternoon is darning clothes or polishing silverware. As soon as Prince Hiccup is out of the room, and props the feature duster she was using against a table. 

“I think I met a fae by the southernmost pond.” Astrid whispers, darting across the room to speak to Fishlegs. Prince Hiccup usually doesn’t wash his hands after using the lavatory so they have at best five minutes. 

“A fae?” Fishlegs asks, looking away from his book of historical records of sugar beet growing practices and his eyes glow. “A _ real life _fae? What did it look like?” 

“I’m not sure what it was exactly,” Astrid cautions, “but it looked like a boy. A very beautiful, delicate boy who almost glowed like the moon and he had feathers in his hair and just felt, uncanny. Not quite right, not quite human.” 

“Hmm,” Fishlegs taps as his book, “a water spirit maybe? Was it in the water?” 

“On land, but he was touching the water. Aren’t water spirits usually blue?” Astrid asks and Fishlegs opens his mouth to answer but they both hear the sound of Prince Hiccup’s boots outside in the corridor so Astrid goes back across the room to her dusting and Fishlegs turns the next page of his book. Prince Hiccup bursts in a second later. 

“Good.” He says. He doesn’t seem to notice Astrid’s still dusting the same place. He settles back into the settee and looks like he’s going to segway back into his usual rant when there’s a knock at the door and a manservant steps in.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, all pompous tone and rolling words off the tongue. Astrid keeps dusting, “Her Royal Highness, Wanderer Queen Valka is returning from her expedition bringing many treasures, and will request your presence in the throne room.” 

“Mommy!” Prince Hiccup squeals and moves fast

“Treasures,” Astrid scoffs. It will be jars of mud and mouldy bits of fungi and decaying skeletons. And if Astrid’s really lucky dragon excrement or horse droppings the Wanderer Queen hasn’t realised where from her own party’s steeds. Fishlegs snorts, but the manservant gives her a look. 

“Your presence is required immediately girl.” The manservant says. Astrid bows at the waist and the manservant scoffs, looking away and for a moment Astrid expects a tongue lashing but he obviously decides it’s not worth it today. 

Astrid puts away the cleaning equipment and takes the servant’s stairs down to the throne room. There is indeed bags and bags worth of “valuable research items” and Astrid spends the rest of the day ferrying jars of mud and bags of fungi and flowers to the Wanderer Queen’s rooms. There’s a jar of tadpoles that Astrid is tempted to hide in her petticoats to bring down to the ponds to release. 

“You’re no longer needed,” the Wanderer Queen says when Astrid returns to pick up the last bag, “take that up to the curiosity cabinet and be on your way.” 

“Right away, your Majesty.” Astrid bobs the closest thing she’s going to do to a curtsy and leaves the court to the Wanderer Queen’s fanciful stories. They sound made up to Astrid, they shift and change like whatever sounds coolest is the truth but the King and Prince are besotted and thus so is the rest of the court. 

On her way to the western lawns Astrid takes a detour to the ponds and casts an eye out for the boy. No one’s there, not even an imprint of the boy and Astrid takes a moment, confused. Out in the middle of the pond are two swans, white and shimmering in the late evening sun and the way the features glow reminds Astrid of the boy. 

“I’m sorry,” Astrid calls out when the swans swim closer, “I’ve already run out of bread. I will bring you some tomorrow.” 

Gobber doesn’t criticise Astrid for being late, a couple of the younger knight-in-training still using the test dummies to practice aim. They puff up when they see Astrid, showing off. She sits down next to Gobber, picking up a polishing rag and scoffs at their efforts. 

“The one on the left isn’t even holding the sword correctly.” She says. Gobber grunts in agreement. “They are pitiful, do they send you worse boys every year on purpose? Soon all of them will be killed before they reach the battlefield.” 

“Not everyone is a prodigy Astrid,” Gobber laughs, patting her on the back. The sun is dipping low and Gobber calls all the boys off the field to go home before their rich mothers worry about their dear little boys getting lost in the dark. They all flex in Astrid’s general vicinity as they go past, claiming warm down stretches. 

“If I could become a knight,” Astrid starts, a well used line and Gobber sighs. 

“But you _ can’t.” _Gobber says. “I don’t agree with it lass, but that’s the way things are.”

“The Beserkers have women warriors.” Astrid demands. “Why can’t you convince King Stoick to follow in their footsteps? It makes sense.” 

“Have you ever tried to convince Stubborn Stoick to do anything?” Gobber asks, hands on his hips. It draws Astrid up short. She imagines it’s not easy at all. It’s probably as difficult as talking to herself. 

“It’s unfair.” Astrid says. Astrid already lost Uncle Finn to the Haddock Dynasty, why does she have to spend her days scrubbing floors and cleaning up after absent minded queens instead of following in his footsteps. 

“I know lass,” Gobber says, “go get ready for practice.” 

Gobber lights the fire pit whilst Astrid goes inside to take her petticoats off, underneath a part of trousers Astrid is definitely not allowed to own. She and her mama stitched the sizing right in the light of the stub of their weekly candle allowance out of a pair of men’s trousers. She ties her hair back properly, braiding it tightly and tying it off with a ribbon. When she returns with the broadsword she’d patiently made alongside Gobber in the forge, materials out of her own pay, there’s just enough light for her to see by. 

“Show me some swings,” Gobber instructs and Astrid falls into the routine of demonstrating her sword skills. They practice, with dummies, against one another, until Astrid can barely stand up. She feels herself giving up ground, and calls it to a halt, asking for a minute but Gobber calls time. They pack up, hiding Astrid’s sword again and putting Astrid’s costume back on. Gobber invites himself over to eat Astrid’s mama’s stew and she almost forgets about the strange boy. 

The next morning Astrid brings the bread to the pond and the swans are still there. She feeds mallards and coot until the swans swim over, nudging their way in. The wind has picked up, and the birds are all ruffled, looking put out. Bread catches the wind as it leaves her hand, floating away and at one point when her shoes kick up a bunch of dirt in their general direction. Once all the bread is gone, Astrid realises her hair is still up and messy from last night. She sits at the pond’s edge and pulls her hair out and lets the window separate it so she can finger comb the notes out. She’s almost done when a particularly strong gust snatches her ribbon out of her hand.

“Oh fuck,” Astrid shouts, lurching up and chasing the ribbon three steps into the pond until her petticoats start to seriously gain weight. The ribbon twists up into the air, almost within reach and then swiftly disappears out into the middle of the lake. If it was _ just _ a ribbon, Astrid would simply steal another whilst mending clothes today but it was crushed velvet Uncle Finn had traded rations for on a crusade and now it’s _ gone. _

She shows up to morning cleaning looking like drowned rat and she’s banished from the palace for a day which is a relief. Let Prince Hiccup think she really has been eaten by cursed wolves. 

Gobber is busy training the knights-to-be but Astrid steals into the forge all the same and takes her sword, leaving her wet petticoats to dry by the fire. She uses a boot lace to tie her hair back and practices form and swings and stroke until her muscles ache. And then, when she becomes too weary to hold her broadsword she sheaths it and goes over hand to hand until the sun goes down. 

“You got your petticoats wet today Astrid?” Her mama asks, stroking Astrid’s shoulder as she passes to get to the stew pot. “Mrs Jorgensen told me you won’t get paid today for turning up dirty.” 

“I lost the ribbon Uncle Finn gave me.” Astrid replies, sulking into the table. Her petticoats are hung up in the closet, smoky smelling like the forge, just trousers on. 

“Oh Astrid,” her mama says, handing Astrid a bowl full of stew. There’s a knock at the door and she pauses to go answer it. “You can start, dear.” 

Astrid peers around to the front door to see Fishlegs holding far too many books for it to be comfortable. She waves, and Fishlegs only smiles because otherwise he’d drop the books. Her mama ushers him in, getting another bowl out for him to eat too. 

“What’s this about meeting fae?” Her mama asks, teasing. Astrid hasn’t been keeping secrets not really. 

“At the southern pond, there was a strange boy.” Astrid says. “His aura felt inhuman.” 

“Could have been a swan,” her mama jokes and Astrid frowns. Everything’s always a swan. 

“Well I brought everything I could find about water spirits.” Fishlegs says. He puts the books down on the table and takes the offered bowl of stew. “Thanks for the food Mama Hoff.” 

Astrid is already tired, but Fishlegs put a lot of effort into finding this information for her so they go through it until Astrid’s asleep in her stew. None of the drawings look like boy, see through or tinged blue and their voices sound like a bubbling brook or a rushing stream. Nothing about eggshell white boys with down for hair. Her mama sends Fishlegs home with another bowl of stew he carefully balances atop the books. 

There is only a little spare bread the following morning, and Astrid spreads it thin over the waterbirds. Soon Astrid will have to come even earlier, as it will be hunting season and the royals will disturb the peace shooting the mallards. She listens for the reed warbler again, but only catches the chitter of a wren. 

“Oh, there you are Late.” A voice says behind Astrid and she turns, skidding on the muddy edge of the pond. It is the boy, draped in a cloak of pure white features, more ethereal and beautiful than Astrid remembers. In his hand he is holding the crushed velvet ribbon Astrid lost yesterday. 

“Late?” Astrid asks, wary of the ribbon. In Fishlegs’ books fae were tricksters and presents had a catch. 

“That is your name, is it not?” The boy asks, head tilted to the side, and his eyes go wide when Astrid shakes her head. “I asked who you were?”

“No, I was late for my work.” Astrid explains. She steadies herself and takes the ribbon. Trick or not, Uncle Finn got it for her. 

The boy drops his hand back into his cloak, tilting his head as he looks curiously at Astrid. He looks even stranger now with the cloak, it almost floats around him, paler than his moonlight skin. He looks like he’s so light any second he might float away. 

“Did you kill a swan for that?” Astrid asks, sharper than she means. If he did, she would do everything in her power to keep him away from the pond. 

“What?” The boy laughs, “I would never.” He doesn’t offer another explanation though and Astrid wonders if fae like to pick up feathers as treasure. If he walked around the palace grounds and found every swan feather possible. 

“You can call me A,” Astrid says, eventually. Fishlegs had warned her not to give a name either, for names are powerful.

“I am Tuff.” The boy says. “If you see a girl who looks like me, she is my twin sister Ruff.” 

“Thank you for finding my ribbon.” Astrid says. She had looked and looked, searching the edges but it was gone. She still has the boot lace in her hair, and she reaches up to untie it and her hair falls into her face. 

“Oh,” Tuff steps forwards, into Astrid’s space, reaching out to touch Astrid’s hair. She shies away from his hand and he stops, hand outstretched. “Can I braid your hair?” 

“I have to go.” Astrid says, stuffing the boot lace in her pocket and quickly twists her hair up “I’m already late for my work.” 

“Come visit again soon,” Tuff says, “the birds are happy to see you. But don’t bring bread, it makes us sick.” 

Astrid takes the shortcut through the orchard back to the palace door. Technically only the orchardist are supposed to be there, to ensure the best fruit goes to the palace but they only smile at Astrid as she passes. When she reaches the servants quarters gets a stern look from Mrs Jorgenson as she goes to pick up her dustpan and feather duster. It takes some doing, but eventually Astrid manages to get reassigned to the library, wandering around the books to dust them and chase silver fish. 

“Fishlegs,” Astrid hisses, glad that Prince Hiccup is obviously still occupied with the return of his mother. He looks up from his books and then grins when he sees it’s Astrid, watching a senior librarian walking past before beckoning her over. 

“I’ve looked at some more into water-related fae, your mysterious boy might be a willow nymph.” Fishlegs flicks the book open to a drawing of a wispy boy, hanging from the branches of a willow. It 

“He has a cloak of feathers.” Astrid says. “I saw him again this morning and he was wearing a cloak of features like a swan’s and he found my ribbon that was lost in the middle of the pond.” 

“Oh.” Fishlegs says. He holds up a finger and flicks through the book again, rifling through like he’s not quite sure of the page but remembers the content. 

“Besides, there aren’t any willows at the southern ponds.” Astrid adds, unhelpfully. Fishlegs exaggerates his held up finger. 

“Here.” He opens to a page that says SELKIE in big letters and a drawing of a beautiful woman and detailed sketches of a pelt. Astrid has never seen that animal before, but it’s got fur and fins and definitely not feathers. It’s brown, not white. 

“What’s a seal?” Astrid asks. It looks kind of like a dog without back legs. “Are women turning into them?” 

“No no, the additional notes.” Fishlegs points to the bottom of the page. There is a note, half ruined by an ink blot but there’s clearly _ swan maiden _ underlined three times. 

“Are you saying my mama wasn’t joking?” Astrid asks, she wishes there was a drawing, something to compare to. 

“Uhh, yes.” Fishlegs says, shrugging. The senior librarian rounds the corner again and Astrid jumps back to the book shelf, feather duster in hand. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see a common girl _ learning _. 

“I thought I assigned you sugar beets.” The head librarian says, looking down at Fishlegs’ books. 

“I was discovering how water fae affect the water to sugar ratio.” Fishlegs says. Astrid snorts into her hand, and gives him a little wave and then moves off. 

In the afternoon, she sits next to her mama to darn a pairs of socks and her mama strokes her hair and touches the ribbon carefully. She tilts her head and looks up carefully at her mama, but there is no surprise in her eyes. 

“Did your boy find it for you?” Her mama asks, and Astrid wants to refute the statement, her cheeks pink at the idea of _ your, _remembering him sitting at the water’s edge, skyclad. 

“Yes.” Astrid says, “Did you know about swan maidens mama?” 

“Yes, but I’ve never met one.” Her mama says. They quieten down for a moment, letting another maid grab another pile of socks. It’s likely the closest maids can hear them away, but her story is interrupted by the arrival of Prince Hiccup. 

“Oh,” Prince Hiccup exaggerates a faint in front of Astrid, knocking her piles of socks into each other. Now she’ll have to resort them. “I really was worried about that roving wolf really eating you up this time!” 

“Roving wolf pack?” A maid pipes up, fear scooped heavily into her voice. 

“There is no roving wolf pack sir,” Astrid says quickly to distract from the other maid’s pack of royal address. They don’t like it when Hiccup shows up to bother her, it bothers all of them, and then they don’t want to speak with her for a while. 

“A cursed one,” Prince Hiccup adds and Astrid rolls her eyes, “that eats only the most beautiful of women.” 

“That’s not real.” Astrid tells the others, but they’re already offended. They’re already offended _ she _gets the Prince’s attention, attention she doesn’t want, and nothing will make it better. Astrid goes back to her darning. 

When she gets home, exhausted from training she flops onto her mama’s kitchen table and sulks. Gobber has dinner with the King, and had cut training short but all of Astrid aches, especially her heart. 

“I wish he would leave me alone.” Astrid says, and her mama strokes her hair again, passing her to get to the stew. 

“I know, dear.” Her mama says. She puts the extra bowl away. Apparently Gobber was expected. 

“It’s so unfair, what did I do to deserve this?” Astrid says, taking her bowl but frowning down at it. “Why can’t he annoy others who want the attention? I wish he would leave me alone. Do you think if I made myself ugly he would leave me alone?” 

“You’ve done nothing wrong my sweet pea,” her mama says, sitting beside her instead of across from her and pulls her into an embrace. “Nothing wrong at all, and don’t you dare take something to your skin.” She adds, as if she can read Astrid’s mind. She cups Astrid’s face in a hand and kisses her on “Now, eat up before the stew gets cold.” 

Her mama’s stew would take hours to get cold, but after a few moments of burying her face into her Mama’s chest she sits up and eats her dinner dutifully. They are almost done when her mama pulls out of a couple of slices of a berry pie, and Astrid’s eyes go wide. Someone must have slipped the pieces to her, hidden in a petticoat pocket and Astrid hurries to eat her stew to try the berry pie. They are half way through the pie, so rich with blueberries and raspberries it feels like Astrid’s in heaven when her mama puts her fork down and taps nervously at the plate. 

“Your Uncle Finn met a swan maiden once,” her mama says, voice soft and fond. Astrid puts down her fork too to look at her properly. “It was a protective service trip, before you were born. They were staying at the borders of the eastern swamp lands and a lot of the knights frequented a local tavern. The entertainment there was a beautiful, ethereal woman who glowed like moonlight and had hair of snow and the most beautiful singing voice they had ever heard. Most of the knights would sit and listen to her into the early hours of the morning, but Finn, he listened to her _ words _ and she sounded like she was chained to her piano. 

“She would sit, in the early hours of the morning by the lake’s edge, never touching the water, and stare out into the water with such a strong longing it knocked him back. They spoke, and she talked of family she missed, and how she didn’t like the tavern keeper and how the wind felt in her hair when she was free. The tavern keeper had seen her one day, bathing in the late and stolen her swan cloak and trapped her as a human to perform in his tavern, to earn him money from drunk knights and men.” 

“Mama,” Astrid interrupts, not sure how to express the uncomfortable feeling in her gut. She can almost imagine this swan maiden, pale hair, moonlight skin, and she knows the feeling of freedom just being outside her grasp. She wants the story to end happy, but she doesn’t know how her own will too. “Did Uncle Finn help?” 

“Of course he did,” her mama smiles, looking down at the last bit of her berry pie. “Your Uncle Finn was brave, and selfless and caring. The swan maiden told him where her cloak was hidden - a locked trunk in the tavern keeper’s chambers - and so your Uncle Finn stole it back.” 

“Of course he did.” Astrid agrees. “Uncle Finn saved cygnet from a dog, he would save everyone if he could.” 

“And immediately, the swan maiden put her cloak on and honked for joy. The tavern keeper heard the noise and rushed outside, in his bed clothes but he was too late, the swan maiden was free.” Her mama picks up her fork again. The story feels unfinished and finished all the same and Astrid lets it settle down into her shoulders whilst she goes back to the last of her delicious berry pie too. 

“I want to be just like Uncle Finn.” Astrid says. And, she wants to be just like the swan maiden. _ Free. _

In the morning, Astrid skips the kitchen to steal down into the farmyard and fill her pockets from the feed backs of the geese and chickens. It’s not bread, but she’s not sure if it’s any better, so if she sees Tuff she’ll ask. At first, there is only her usual mallards and a couple of daring coots and the goose feed sinks so when she tries to throw it out further to the grebes they still don’t get any food. 

The swans aren’t there, and at first, Tuff isn’t either but as Astrid feeds the ducks he breaks the water in the middle of the pond. He waves, and then dives down again. She can’t 

“Not-Late,” he says, resting his arms against the shore. It has rained last night there is no longer dust billowing around at the slightest bit of wind. He frowns. “A.” 

“Astrid.” Astrid offers. He had offered his name, and now she knows he is not fae. He grins, brighter than the sun for a moment. 

“You brought pellets?” He asks, Astrid shows him a handful of the goose food. 

“The farmers give this the poultry.” Astrid shrugs. It is not bread, she is not sure what else she has to offer the birds. They sign beautiful songs, and remind Astrid of Uncle Finn, she only wishes to provide a thank you. 

“To fatten them up to eat them.” Tuff says, pushing himself up out of the water to take Astrid’s handful of pellets. He is naked again, water pooling down his chest and Astrid looks away quickly, flushed. 

“Are you a swan?” Astrid blurts. It feels stupid saying it but Tuff looks up and blinks and then picks up his cloak out of the reeds, water slucing off him and once the hood is drawn up there’s a beautiful white swan in front of Astrid. “Oh my gods.” Astrid says. She holds her hand out again and it, he, Tuff bumps her hand with his beak. He is a swan only a moment longer, taking the feathered cloak off. 

“Is it safe, in the reeds?” Astrid asks, looking at his shoulders and head only. She remembers her mama’s story about Uncle Finn and the swan maiden. If she’s here poking around, surely someone else might be. 

“You are the chick of the protector, are you not?” Tuff asks, “Ruff doesn’t know if we should trust you, but I remember him saving us from the dog, and we swans hear stories.” 

“You were the cygnets?” Astrid remembers the flapping wings and Uncle Finn’s bitten hand. And then, scandalised. “Are you _ twelve _?” 

“No!” Tuff says, stamping a foot. “It’s different, when you’re our kind of swan. We are cygnets for years. I am fifteen years old. My hatch day is very soon, and then I will be sixteen.” 

“Oh.” Astrid says. “Well, I wouldn’t steal your cloak, you know. Unless it was to steal it back, of course.” _ Like the protector _, she thinks. It is an apt name for Uncle Finn. 

“I know. You practice very seriously to be a fighter, your people’s defender. Ruff wouldn’t trust a squirrel with a nut.” Tuff agrees, still he disappears further than before into the reeds to hide his cloak away before reappearing amongst the mallards, still squabbling for food. “Why do you practice when all the others have gone home.” 

“Because I’m not allowed,” Astrid sighs, “girls are supposed to be maids, and cook and clean and sew clothes. I want to be like my Uncle Finn, but only boys are allowed to be knights.” 

“That’s silly,” Tuff says, “you are much better than some of them. Sometimes a group of those boys spear the fish in the western bogs and leave them to die. They are not protectors.” 

“They do _ what? _” Astrid says, dropping the last of the pellets towards the mallards and coots. She eats fish all the time, but they do not needlessly kill fish for no reason. You should bless the food you eat, thank it for what it gave you. “I will fix this.” She says and Tuff beams again. 

“I knew you would.” He sounds pleased with himself, smug. 

“I should go, I have floors to clean.” Astrid says, “I will scare the boys into not needlessly killing fish, and I will be back tomorrow morning.” 

“We are going for a flight,” Tuff says, splashing the water around him. “Perhaps I will see you the day after, Astrid.” 

“Perhaps.” Astrid agrees, getting up to head back to the palace but she pauses, and then adds: “What food should I bring?”

“Grains, maybe greens too.” Tuff offers, waving her off. 

And this how her days begin, getting up even earlier to sneak the wheat and oats before they are ground, picking lettuce from the vegetable patch. She feeds the birds and writes down their names, and speaks to Tuff if he is there. He has a million stories; about flying, about being _ free _, gossip about other birds. She shares her own, of Uncle Finn and her mama, of the hard work she has to do, of the Prince harassing her. Tuff gets mad when he hears that, sounds most like a swan in his human form. She leaves her normal time, no longer late to work and spends the mornings cleaning, fending off the Prince and the afternoons sewing. Before she visits Gobber for her evening of training she pretends to be the ghost of a fish at the western bog, scaring the first year knight-to-bes away. 

On Tuff’s hatch day Astrid brings several slices of honey cake and whilst in his human form he devours his piece. Astrid has since learnt the other swan, Ruff, is Tuff’s nestling and shares the same hatch day. He tells Astrid he’s older but when Ruff takes off the hood of her cloak to accept the cake she says she is, in fact, the eldest with a glare that would turn Astrid into smoke and ash if perhaps they were really fae. 

“He is the smallest hatchling.” Ruff says. She sits down between them, the feathers of her cloak up Astrid’s nose. Astrid gets her message. 

“Are you _ really _twelve?” Astrid asks, just in case. Ruff shoots her another glare. “You were just cygnets when Uncle Finn saved you from the dog.” She shrugs. She’s checking. 

“The protector.” Ruff says, awe in her voice and then happily eats her cake. 

Astrid only sees Ruff in her human form a couple of times, draped in her coat on land or unashamedly naked as she bathes. Most of the time when she’s around she’s a 

“I don’t understand why you don’t just leave.” Tuff says, one day, head in Astrid’s lap as she feeds lettuce to some ducklings. “Heather is a warrior. You could just fly away and become a warrior with Heather.” 

“I can’t fly, Tuff.” Astrid says, not for the first time and probably not for the last. And then, “Heather? As in Heather the Unhinged, Princess Warrior of the Beserker Lands?” 

“Who else?” Tuff asks and then doesn’t say anything more until three days later when Ruff absolutely _ gushes _about the Princess and Prince singling co-rulers of the Beserker Lands. 

“They kiss, sometimes. Heather and my sister.” Tuff giggles into Astrid’s shoulder, he’s not wearing his cloak but for some reason Astrid has become desensitised to the moonlight skin, “it’s gross.” 

“Gross!” Ruff says, scandalised, “I’ll show you gross, you little mudslinger!” And then they’re both off, Tuff snatching up his cloak to flap off into the sky, Ruff close behind. 

Some days they are not there, and Astrid finishes her work early and goes to train with Gobber and Snotlout Jorgenson, whom Astrid thought was a tattletale, especially to his mum. He is boastful, and proud and doesn’t like when Astrid beats him in training but knows when to keep his mouth shut. 

“Tough break, Hofferson,” he taunts when he thinks he’s won. Astrid knows he’s stronger, he’s been training longer and he’s heavier than her, but she’s faster and smarter. 

“Unlikely, Jorgenson,” Astrid replies every time. 

“Do you like the boy you pretend fight with?” Tuff asks one day, perched on a rock about a stone throw away from the edge of the water. 

“Snotlout?” Astrid asks. He shrugs, he doesn’t care for the names of boys who are knights-to-be. Astrid doesn’t think Snotlout was harming fish unnecessarily but she doesn’t argue the point. “No, I don’t _ like _him, but he is fun to beat and doesn’t tell his mum a girl is sword fighting in her spare time.” 

“You sort of play fight dance.” Tuff says. “You have those swords, but you don’t hurt each other and it looks like dancing to me.” 

“It’s not dancing.” Astrid says. “Dancing is in ballrooms with stuffy gowns and for rich people who can afford to buy stuff gowns. I serve drinks and mop up the spills.” 

“You are very clever at moving out of the way of his sword,” Tuff says, “I think you would make a good dancer.” 

Questions of dancing follow her around for the rest of the week, a ball is being set up for some passing dignitaries and the preparation is crazy. Prince Hiccup follows her around like a particularly pathetic puppy, asking and asking for her to be his date. She will be holding canapés and spiced wine and cannot even waltz. Fishlegs laughs at her when she hides in the library, complaining. Ruff offers to ruin his day, to ruin his _ life _ if she’d like and Astrid _ wants _to say yes. 

“I am so _ sick _of hearing about dancing,” Astrid announces when she gets home from training the day before the ball. Her mama clucks, serving up stew. Snotlout had gone on and on about it at training, he was going with some girl Astrid wouldn’t know, are you jealous? 

“People are excited.” Her mama explains, placing the bowl in front of Astrid. She looks fond, but she gets to see all the other maids be happy about it. Prince Hiccup made her drop a glass she’ll have to pay for out of her paycheck shoving flowers onto her today. 

“Tuff _ started _ it.” Astrid complains, “there wasn’t even a ball until he asked about my sword fighting practice with Snotlout being like dancing. Do I like Snotlout! Mama, have you _ met _Snotlout?” 

“Your swan asked you about dancing,” her mama says, half a question, mostly a statement. Astrid nods, mouthful of stew meaning she only makes a noise of agreement. “Swans perform mating dances, you know this - you’ve seen it many times. He was probably just confused about the meaning.” 

“Snotlout?” Astrid repeats. At her mama’s blank look she imbues her own with meaning. 

“I’d reassure your swan anyway.” Her mama offers and Astrid thinks about it late into the night. 

She gets up and lights the last stub of a candle for a while now her pay is being docked to look over Uncle Finn’s ledger. She writes it down, messy hand next to her Uncle’s neat cursive, and it makes no sense sitting amongst the bird observations of the day. A swan told me I’d make a good dancer. 

“I wasn’t dancing with Snotlout.” Astrid says, sitting down in front of the swan paddling not far from the shore. All the ducks immediately come swooping in, a moorhen darting out of the reeds to get to Astrid’s handfuls of corn and oats and torn up lettuce leaves. “And I don’t _ like _him.” It’s important he understands. 

“Good,” the swan says, taking off its cloak and it’s Ruff, even though she doesn’t usually frequent quite as early as this. Ruff likes her sleep ins. 

“Oh, Ruff.” Astrid says, she looks up at Ruff’s midsummer’s day eyes and it feels like she could be pierced through by them. “Would you make sure that Tuff’s aware that the sword fighting is just _ fighting. _”

“I will,” she says, “you must solemnly swear on the grave of your ancestors you will not break my brother’s heart.” 

A bit extreme, Astrid thinks for a second, before it sinks in what exactly Ruff means and she flushes. Her mama had given her the same look last night, telling her the importance of mating dances. 

“I swear.” She says. Ruff looks at her like she doesn’t believe her. Maybe it’s not something Astrid can swear, all the sharing of names and taking of gifts and this will be her downfall. 

“See you tonight.” Ruff says, turning back to the pond and Astrid nods before she realises she has no idea what that means. She her _ tonight _? She’s working. 

For all the worry and the scurrying the ball starts easily. The delegation - two nations, if the rumours are true - is just finishing refreshing after their trips and Berk’s courtiers begin their celebrations. Astrid is in her black work dress, pressed within and inch of its life and significantly less impressive pockets. Her mama had allowed her the crushed velvet ribbon, but any other colour had made Mrs Jorgenson frown. Prince Hiccup has already accosted her whilst she was serving the King and his Wanderer Queen drinks when a manservant calls for quiet, announcing the arrivals. 

“Welcoming his highest Majesty, Prince Dagur the Deranged, and her Majesty Princess Heather of the Beserker Lands, and entourage.” His voice echoes around the ballroom and Astrid looks up, excited to see the Warrior Princess of Beserker Lands and then the entire rest of the room falls away. The manservant keeps on talking, introducing some King of the Outcasts Astrid barely recognised as she stares. The ‘and entourage’ is the Warrior Princess’ consort and the consort’s brother and a few others who don’t even register as Ruff looks straight over at Astrid. She winks. 

Astrid has never seen the swan twins wear clothes other than their cloaks. Ruff is in blue, a colour carefully picked to match the deep garnet red of the Warrior Princess. She is covered in jewels, sparkling and regal and she _ knew _they knew the rulers of the Beserker Lands but this is more than just knowing.

“Astrid,” her mama whispers, tugging at Astrid’s arm. “It’s time to serve some canapés.” 

“That’s my swan,” Astrid says, flicking a hand helplessly in Tuff’s direction. He is in moss green and half as much jewellery as Ruff and looks absolutely otherworldly. Like perhaps if she blinks he’ll flicker back across the veil, open his mouth and speak fae words. 

“I’ll make sure to introduce myself then.” Her mama says and tugs Astrid away. 

They spend hours on their feet, serving bites of food and drinks to courtiers. Every so often Astrid can feel eyes upon her, but when she looks up it’s usually Tuff and not Prince Hiccup’s leers. Prince Hiccup came to the ball with another girl, a courtier that’s been nothing but kind to Astrid and she wishes Prince Hiccup would give her the attention she deserves. Instead, he is making a fool of himself, harassing Astrid as she’s trying to serve others and asking for dance after dance. Fishlegs, who doesn’t like parties, has even stepped in a couple of times, giving Astrid a smile as he diverts Prince Hiccup’s attention. He is only successful half the time. Astrid sees her mama speaking to Tuff and Ruff, serving them what Astrid knows is low alcohol sparkling wines over Prince Hiccup’s shoulder when he gets down on one knee. 

“Astrid, uh,” he starts and for a second Astrid isn’t sure what he’s trying to say until she realises he doesn’t even know her surname. “Astrid, will you marry me?” 

“Please don’t embarrass yourself, your highness.” Astrid says, mortified. Even the orchestra has gone quiet, everyone staring at her. She’s in servent’s clothes with a drink stain from Prince Hiccup trying to push her onto the dance floor. 

“Astrid will you marry me?” He repeats, hiccuping at the end of his sentence and Astrid just turns on her heel and leaves. 

_ Fuck it, _she thinks, kicking the gravel outside. Fuck the pay, and fuck the manners she’s supposed to have, and fuck whatever else. Angry, hot tears sting her eyes, but she doesn’t want them to fall, she sniffles, wiping her eyes. Astrid thinks of the poor girl who was Prince Hiccup’s date, the shame she must feel at being asked to make Astrid jealous. To not even make Astrid jealous. Astrid kicks the dirt, and the grass and pushes over a stone statuette of the Haddock Family crest. If Uncle Finn where here, he would have cut Prince Hiccup’s hand off before he let it touch Astrid, he would have given Astrid and her mama the power to say no. 

Astrid shucks off her work dress, the sturdy and stained material falling onto the dirty ground. Her undershirt is new, as soft a material as her mama can afford and Astrid is grateful for it. She unties the laces of her petticoats, rips them off as she heads towards the southernmost ponds, leaving the material behind. When all she is in just her fixed up trousers and her under shirt she breaks out into a run, letting the air burn from her lungs and the tears smudge on her cheeks. 

She reaches the southernmost ponds in record time, dropping waterside as she reaches it. Her face feels hot and cold at the same time, her legs sore. Sometimes it’s like she can still feel Uncle Finn’s presence her e

“Astrid,” a voice calls, and Astrid doesn’t look up, lets the eyes settle on her. “Not-Late,” he says. 

“You didn’t tell me you’re a part of the Royal family of Beserker Lands.” Astrid stares at the patterns she’s making with a stick in the pond. There are no birds out this late. 

“Ruff is. I told you she and Heather kiss sometimes.” Tuff says. Astrid can imagine his expressions. Astrid thinks kissing sometimes is a little different than being a royal consort, but perfect it is the same to a boy who see the movement of dance in sword fighting. 

“You spoke to my mama.” Astrid says. 

“Your mama is nice.” Tuff replies. She turns, and it almost hurts to look at him in the moonlight. He glows like the emerald at his throat and looks twice as delicate. She has to look away. 

“Are your cloaks safe?” She asks, worried when she had checked the reeds and they weren’t there, but glad all the same. The reeds are in the open, unprotected. 

“Of course,” Tuff says, “Dagur makes sure.” 

They stand there, the sound of an owl in the distance and the lapping of the water of the pond against the bank. 

“I’m sorry the Prince treats you like that.” Tuff says. Astrid shrugs. Prince Hiccup has been ruining her life since she went through the early stages of puberty. He and Ruff have expressed many times how much they dislike his actions anyway. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your night.” Astrid says back. He looked like he was having fun, speaking to the Royals of the Beserker Lands and his sister and many of the courtiers of Berk. 

“You could never ruin my night.” He smiles. Astrid smiles back and just from the curve of his shoulder she knows he wants to hug her. Astrid steps forwards and opens her arms and happily Tuff squirms into the space. 

“Did Ruff tell you what I said about Snotlout?” Astrid asks, and Tuff leans back, smiling. 

“Yes.” He grins, teeth bright in the moonlight. “Ruff said that she overheard a maid say Snotlout doesn't even _ know _ how to dance.” 

“I don’t know,” Astrid says, “he probably doesn’t.” 

Tuff smiles like if he doesn’t he’ll explode with emotion. Astrid feels like she’s been dragged over rocks, but standing there in the moonlight by the southernmost ponds in her trousers and undershirt she feels like the most herself she’s been in a very long time. Astrid closes the distance between them.

“Would you like to dance?” Astrid asks. 

If she hasn’t had her hand on his hip she’s sure Tuff would have swooned, his hand going up to Astrid’s bicep. He flutters his eyelashes, a soft _ please _, and Astrid doesn’t know how to dance anyway but Tuff seems pleased to just be pressed close. Astrid dips in, other hand against his collarbone and presses her mouth to his. 

Tuff sighs, arms curling around her neck. The both of them are kind of awkward, closed mouths pressed together but it sends tingles all the way to Astrid’s toes. Her fingers press against the edge of his neck, unsure of what to do exactly, trying to think what she’s seen in corridors as she’s pretended raunchy courtiers weren’t there or what some of the other maids have bragged about whilst darning socks. She pulls back, taking a moment. 

“Please do it again,” Tuff says, like maybe he’s dizzy and then leans his full weight onto Astrid. She’s not ready for it, feet uneven and she steps back to balance herself, catches some river weed and slips, tumbling backwards. They land half in the pond, a great big splash that wakes an angry duck and they both laugh, breathless as the quacking echoes in the night. 

“Whoops,” Astrid says, she’s soaked now, and Tuff’s moss green suit is probably ruined with mud but he looks as ethereal as he did moments ago, even wet and shocked. 

“Never mind all that,” Tuff says, throwing himself forward, “I’m a water bird.” 

He presses his mouth back to Astrid’s, slightly open with a pant and the warmth of this breath makes her dig her fingers into the back of his neck. He whines, shifting forwards and Astrid tugs him closer, leaning back into her elbow in the water. They kiss until they really are dizzy with it, until Astrid’s shivering from the cold, until Tuff has to go back to the palace and play entourage. When Astrid makes her way home, her petticoats and dress drying in front of the fire her mama asks why she’s smiling. 

For about a week and a half Prince Hiccup leaves Astrid alone. A maid says he’s moping in his chambers, crying he’s sick of a broken heart and when Astrid asks Fishlegs he shrugs. Gone are the demands Fishlegs writes his memoirs, so it’s a win in Fishlegs’ book. Gobber has nothing to add when Astrid asks, Snotlout only snorts. 

For a week and a half, Astrid spends every moment she can spare at the southernmost ponds, lazing with Tuff’s head in her lap, laying in the reeds and kissing until she can’t breathe. The feather cloak is as soft as down, it feels like Astrid imagines a cloud would, the reeds surround them like their own little world. The Prince and Princess rulers of the Beserker Lands leave after a week, and so does their entourage but evidently Tuff told them everything because Astrid gets a wink from Dagur the Deranged. 

Heather the Unhinged, Princess Warrior takes Astrid aside, hand on Astrid’s bicep in a completely dissimilar way to Tuff’s hands curl around the muscle and asks Astrid to be one of her knights. Astrid nods, shaken by the question, knows Ruff spilt it all, but Heather the Unhinged clearly uses the wrong words when she speaks to the King because he looks stricken and Heather the Unhinged doesn’t ask Astrid again. Snotlout stays out of her way for the entire training that day. 

When the week and a half ends, after Astrid’s finished training and spent half an hour in the reeds pinning Tuff down with her weight and kissing him breathless she comes home to a somber mood. Gobber’s over, eating a bowl of her mama’s famous stew and the tension is easy to feel. Astrid shuts the front door.

“Mama?” Astrid asks. She’s a little scared to ask. Perhaps she doesn’t want to know.” 

“We had a very different visitor today,” her mama says, putting a bowl of stew down in a spare seat. Astrid sits, accepting the spoon. “Prince Hiccup came to ask for your hand in marriage.” 

“_ What? _ ” Astrid chokes on her first bite of the stew, piece of potato going down the wrong way. How _ dare _ the Prince, after everyone had thought he was getting over it. 

“I said no.” Her mama says. “But, as I am only a woman, and your male caregiver is thus the kingdom, the King has the last say.” 

“_ What?” _Astrid repeats. She feels sick. She pushes away her stew. “I’m going to bed.” 

“We can convince Stoick to say no,” Gobber says, reaching out to pat Astrid on the arm but she dodges him. 

“No offence Gobber, but you can’t even convince him to let me in the forge legally.” Astrid snaps. “Prince Hiccup does whatever he wants because King Stoick loves him, to fault. He thinks I am a good influence. He’s not going to say no.” 

She storms upstairs to her room and buries herself into her blankets until the sun is just rising and then makes her way to the southernmost ponds. She doesn’t bring food, and perhaps the birds will forgive her for this one day. 

“You’re early,” Ruff says. 

“How far away is the Beserker Palace?” Astrid asks. 

“Half a days flight, give or take an hour depending on the wind.” Ruff responds. 

“Astrid!” Tuff grins, popping up out of the water and launching himself at her. Astrid catches him, accepting his hug. 

“I can’t fly.” Astrid says. “How far by _ land. _” 

“Why?” Ruff asks, shrewed.

“I have to leave.” Astrid says. “If I am taken in by the Beserker Palace for twelve nights of refuge my current work agreement is null.”

“Astrid?” Tuff asks. She looks down at him, reading hope and confusion right across his features. She lifts a hand to stroke the feather soft hair out of his face. 

“The Prince has asked for my hand in marriage.” Astrid says. “I am seventeen in a month. I only gave my mama to speak for me, I have to leave.” 

“He _ what _?” Tuff asks. Astrid doesn’t want to go over it anymore. She strokes Tuff’s face. 

“You should see your witch.” Ruff says. “Get your mama to start packing.” She swims over to the bank and picks up her cloak. “It takes two days by land.” 

“Okay.” Astrid says, and Ruff nods, turning into her swan form. She opens her wings, wide like that day Astrid first saw a swan and beats her wings, taking off. 

“Your mama said _ no _, right?” Tuff asks. 

“Of course she did, but what is a woman’s word?” Astrid asks back. Tuff looks dumbfounded because he would never think like that, and Astrid kisses his wrinkled forehead. 

“Why is this land like this?” He frowns. Astrid doesn’t know, tradition and rules, the King’s own fear of losing his wife, his son. Because Astrid is the bastard child of a servant, and they sent her uncle to die fighting an unwinnable battle. “Do you really have a witch?” 

“Sure.” Astrid says. “She lives on the edge of the forest and the King speaks to her regarding crusades and political decisions.” 

Astrid has never visited the witch Gothi, although Uncle Finn spoke of her. Around the grounds there are rumours of how she got her powers, selling her soul to a fae for a drop of their blood, by killing a fawn at a crossroad, cutting the eyes out of six white crows for a giant to feed. Uncle Finn had laughed when Astrid, all five, asked if the witch in the woods really did eat children. Astrid didn’t know. She didn’t go to the woods, even though that’s where she’s most likely to see a woodpecker. 

“Great magic requires a sacrifice,” Uncle Finn had said, “people think Gothi is strange because she traded her tongue for a life of solitude. If you listen with your eyes and nose, you will hear more than you thought possible. 

“How do you listen with your _ nose _?” Astrid had giggled and Uncle Finn swung her up into his arms, sniffing exaggeratedly at Astrid’s hair. Astrid had giggles more, failing about, poking Uncle Finn in his face. 

Astrid understands now. She is nearly seventeen and she’d give up her voice for freedom too. What difference does a voice make when it’s not listened to? 

Astrid knocks on the door to witch Gothi’s cottage and waits. Tuff nervously holding Astrid’s hand. He prefers open areas, places to spread his wings and the trees of the forest are too close. There are turkey vultures, high up in the branches and they make him nervous too. Gothi answers after the second knock, staff in hand. 

“I need your help.” Astrid says. Gothi taps her staff three times against the floor. “My Uncle Finn spoke very highly of you, and he said you traded for your freedom. I would like to request your aid to do the same.” At Uncle Finn’s name Gothi breaks into a wisened old smile and ushers them inside. 

Immediately she begins throwing things into a cauldron in the middle of the room. Things splash in the water, sizzling as they hit it. The fire underneath flickers, and Gothi adds more wood. She points at things and Astrid helps her to get them off shelves full of herbs and bones and potions. Gothi mixes and stirs and adds things until the cauldron is full of milky water, shine bright from the concoction and then Gothi looks directly at Astrid. 

“A sacrifice?” Astrid asks. At Gothi’s nod she unconsciously raises her free hand to her throat. “I am prepared to make the same one as you.” She says. Tuff squeezes her hand, tight enough to almost feels like the bones in her fingers grind together. Gothi wacks her staff against the cauldron and points to Astrid. 

“Oh thank goodness,” Tuff sighs. Astrid doesn’t know what she means though, touching her shoulder like she can figure it out by poking herself and purely by accident her finger scraps along the crushed velvet ribbon in her hair. 

“This?” Astrid asks. It is her last remnant of Uncle Finn and she _ doesn’t _want to give it up. It is also the reason Tuff spoke to her the second time. She unties it from her hair and hands it over. 

Gothi carefully examines the ribbon, Astrid wants to take it back, wants Uncle Finn curled up in her hair again but Gothi drops it into the cauldron. As soon as it touches the water, the cauldron explodes. The three of them go flying, back into the cupboards and it knocks jars rattling out from the top and shattering on the floor. Astrid protects Tuff with her body, expecting a wave of hot cauldron water and when nothing comes she looks up. Aside from the two jars and the people everything is fine, the liquid from the cauldron gone. 

“Wow, magic overload.” Tuff says. Gothi claps her hands together once, a sharp sound ringing out and it feels too loud, rattling around in Astrid’s brain. 

“It’s done?” Astrid asks, and Gothi nods a confirmation and then immediately starts ushering them out of her cottage. Astrid picks up the broken jar for her anyway, making sure there’s no glass on the ground and Gothi smiles, fond and then wacks her on the backside to move along. 

“What do you think it did?” Tuff asks, reaching for Astrid’s hand again. 

“Maybe King Stoick will say no.” Astrid shrugs. She’s not sure what else it could be. 

“Are you free from Horrible Hiccup if you’re still here? Tuff asks. _ No _, Astrid thinks. But it’s enough. 

When Astrid wakes the next morning, she is surrounded by feathers. She thinks for a moment maybe Tuff stayed over, but her room door is shut and her mama would never allow them both in a room with a shut door. Maybe he left his cloak for safe keeping. But why would she sleep with it on the bed? 

It doesn’t smell like him and Astrid gets up, looking at the cloak. Her fingers inch, a longing she’s never felt before to pick it up and put it on. She reaches out and strokes the feathers, soft and gentle under her fingers and then she gives into the urge to put it on. Immediately the world changes around her, perspective dropping, things going larger. She feels strange and when she shifts her arms there’s a gust of wind. 

“Holy fuck,” Astrid says. All she hears is a swan honk. 

She thinks of yesterday, of Ruff’s “half a day flight,” and suddenly she knows what to do. She knows how she can be _ free _. 

Astrid takes the cloak off, looping it over an arm and heads to her mama’s room. Her mama is awake, looking blearily around and Astrid climbs into bed with her, like Astrid is still a little child, seeking comfort. 

“Was that a swan?” Her mama asks, “there better not have been _ boys _in your room with the door shut.” 

“Yes it was a swan, mama.” Astrid says. She holds up the cloak. “It was me.” 

“Oh. Well that makes a lot more sense,” her mama says. “Ruff came to the door yesterday, telling me to pack our belongings. That a Beserker Prince would meet us at the border. It seemed very far fetched.” 

“It is half a day flying.” Astrid says, “mama you must go ahead. I will say you are sick. The Prince came by and now you are sick. I will lie for two weeks and I will grow more sickly too, until Gobber says we are both sick. You will be safe, free of Berk and I will join you as a swan on their lake until my twelve days are done.” 

“I will pack our things.” Her mama says. “You tell the swans the plan, I will go tomorrow, today I shall act sickly.” Astrid throws her arms around her mama and hugs her tight. Her mama hugs her just as tight back. “Uncle Finn would be proud of you, his little bug. All grown up and fighting for what’s right.” 

“Mama,” Astrid says, choked up, but doesn’t stay too long. She has to make her way to 

Tuff comes up out the water the second he sees her, body language curious and open. Ruff stops too, staring over at Astrid. 

“Is that mine?” Tuff asks, he stops to peer into the reeds but then looks suspiciously over at the cloak Astrid’s holding.

“No,” she says, barely holding back a grin, “it’s mine.” 

Tuff squawks, rushing forward to touch the cloak, fingers threading through the feathers and shifting like he’s preening. He takes a handful of it and lifts it to his face. 

“It smells like you,” he says, awed, “is this what the magic did?” 

“Show us,” Ruff says, and Astrid does. 

The water is different as a swan, a deep tug in Astrid’s gut and she lets herself be pulled forwards. Tuff is carrying on, excited beyond and keeps touching her back, her wings. It feels strange to move her arms and have the full power of a wing, but also, like it is meant to be. A moment later Tuff slides into the water proper, in his swan form. He sidles up to Astrid, nervous and cute and Astrid feels kind of strange about the way her neck moves now but presses her face into the side of his. Astrid to can _ feel _Tuff’s excitement, like a buzzing little mosquito and when he opens his mouth the noises sound like words. 

“What’s the plan?” Ruff interrupts, still human, hands on her hips. Astrid takes off her cloak. Astrid thinks she probably kind of already knows. 

“It’s simple.” Astrid begins. 

The first eight days of saying her mama’s sick is easy. The Prince apparently _ had _actually been sick. He was very apologetic, flowers every day for Astrid’s mama and Astrid’s a little taken aback. It’s the nicest thing Prince Hiccup has ever done, that’s Astrid’s aware of. The eight day, Astrid sees them as the bribe they’re meant to be. Still, the thought is something and Astrid musters up a smile even when Mrs Jorgenson starts criticising her. 

“Eight days? Does your mama have the _ plague _?” Mrs Jorgenson criticises. When her husband died she took three months off for grieving leave, so how can she talk? 

“Would you like her to come in anyway if she did?” Astrid demands. “Would you like to get the plague too?” 

“Three more days.” Mrs Jorgenson sniffs. And tomorrow I will send another healer for her.” 

Three more days might _ just _be enough - her mamma left that night and with a two day trip to the Beserker Lands she’ll be safe. If the healer comes tomorrow though, they might send out a search party. Astrid is here, so they might not know where to look, but Heather the Unhinged, Warrior Princess asked for Astrid’s service, so they might look there anyway. She needs another day. 

She knows up to palace servants doors sickly on the ninth day, coughing and clammy. A healer checks her and doesn’t know what’s wrong, her temperature far too low, her hands shaking. When he visit’s Astrid’s house, her “mama” sounds hoarse and manly (which is Gobber, in a bonnet, who puts on a fake voice, as high pitched as he can) and her coughs rattle the house. Much to Mrs Jorgenson’s dismay puts them on at least another week of bed rest, with a check up at the end of the week. Astrid takes the note, nodding seriously and then deadlocks the front door. Gobber looks ridiculous in his bonnet, but Astrid doesn’t laugh, instead throwing her arms around him for a tight hug he reciprocates. 

“You be safe, lass.” He says, suspiciously thick. Astrid does laugh now. How silly, she feels just as choked up. 

“You tell Snotlout I’ll see him at a tournament, soon enough.” She wipes her cheek, no tears yet but just in case. “And if you see Fishlegs, tell him I’m sorry I didn’t let him know what was going on. I couldn’t risk him blathering to Prince Hiccup by mistake.” 

“Aye,” Gobber says. A moment later, there’s a knock at the back door and when he opens it there’s two swans. “Well now I’ve seen everything.” Gobber says.

“Good bye,” Astrid says, picking up her cloak. She and the swan twins have been practicing her flying and although she had been clumsy, there was something natural about it, something easy. She rests her hand on the door frame. “Goodbye Uncle Finn.” In reality, she knows Uncle Finn is in her heart and the cloak over her shoulders but it will be strange to live in a place that he has not stood. She puts her cloak on. 

“Woah,” Gobber says, “well, _ now _I’ve really seen everything.” 

It takes a week and three days for an entourage of Berkians arrive at the Beserker Palace. Ruff greats them in her silken bedware and sneers when they demand entry. She lets them though, knights with savage hands against the delicate artifacts and they ravage room upon room. Dagur the Deranged, Warrior Prince laughs in their faces when they demand Astrid’s mama to come back with them. 

“Advisor Hofferson has been here for nearly a moon,” he says, “is she not a servant? Is she not free to go?” 

“Where’s the girl?” A knight asks. Prince Hiccup stamps a foot, crossing his arms. 

“My future wife has to be here, her mother is.” He says, furiously and Heather the Unhinged, Warrior Princess, wrapped in only a sheer robe tells them to look as much as they like. 

They do not find Astrid. She is not in the servant’s quarters, or in the Royal bedchambers, or in the gatehouse or any other building they over turn. Four days pass and the King of Berk and his Wanderer Queen arrive, pleasant in ways Prince Hiccup has not been. He has started criticising every piece of furniture, every cup and knife, every wall hanging. “This is mine,” he says, like anything he says is his as soon as he decries it. Prince Dagur or Prince Heather or Ruff or even the servants have stories for each item and Prince Hiccup gets more 

“Son,” King Stoick says, hand on Prince Hiccup’s shoulder and voice booming, “have you not mistreated our dear friend’s palace enough? It is nigh twelve days.” 

“But it is _ not _twelve days.” Prince Hiccup wines, looking towards his mother, whom has said nothing. King Stoick doesn’t not look impressed. 

“She is a bastard peasant.” The Wanderer Queen shrugs. “I’m parched from the horse back riding, do you have some elderflower tea?” 

They stay for one night, King Stoick almost dragging Prince Hiccup out from the palace. The knights had spent the entire afternoon tidying with sturdy hands and Prince Hiccup had tried to find _ something _he could take. They’re almost out to the front gate when he digs in his heels. 

“Hey!” Prince Hiccup points out towards the front ponds, full of lily pads and blossoms, of reed and chirruping. Amongst it all, are two swans, white as snow and necks curled. He must be desperate, for he says, “those swans! They look like _ our _ swans, we see in _ our _ponds. That belongs to me!” 

“Don’t be stupid spoilt Prince.” Ruff says. “Swans don’t belong to anyone. They are free.” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
